


Debt

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Master/Slave Roleplay, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 23:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14123142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Gladiolus loses a bet and serves Ignis for it.





	Debt

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Looking for something where they make some bet and the loser has to be the other's slave for X length of time. It can be a sweet and fluffy getting together fic, an excuse for some kinky Master/slave badness, or even something angsty where maybe they take it too far and the slave gets hurt/embarrassed or something? Bonus points if one or both of them realize they like the idea of being a slave or owner. :) Extra bonus if the slave bro has to do stuff like give foot rubs, hand feed the winner, fan them in the sun, carry their gear, etc.” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=8950411#cmt8950411).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Lugging all their gear from the Regalia to the campsite is little trouble for Gladiolus, even though they normally share the job amongst the four of them. On nights like this, where Noctis has harsher headaches and Prompto’s playing nurse, Gladiolus and Ignis could split the weight. Even though the other three are scrawny beanpoles next to him, Gladiolus knows they’re all stronger than they look. But he’s the only one laden down with all their packs, and Noctis and Prompto are too wrapped up in their conversation to notice. Ignis, unencumbered and alone, leads them up the rocky slope to the flat surface where they’ll set up camp.

Gladiolus allows a small grunt of relief when he can finally drop the heavy gear onto the dusty ground. But he still would’ve done it all if needed, even if he hadn’t lost his last match with Ignis in King’s Knight and the cocky bet that went with it. He probably should’ve known not to goad their best strategist into a game of high stakes. Although, they don’t seem so high now. 

As he starts pulling up the tent, Noctis and Prompto plopping down at the edge of the circular platform, Ignis kneels next to him to rummage through the bags. Ignis starts extracting his cooking gear, as Gladiolus probably should’ve expected. Maybe Ignis didn’t think Gladiolus would really stick to his word—that he’d laugh it off after indulging in one trip of being the packhorse. But Gladiolus _always_ keeps his word.

He reaches over to place his larger hand over Ignis’ thin wrist, explaining, “I should do that. I’m the slave, aren’t I?”

Without looking at him, face semi-hidden in the darkness of the evening, Ignis answers, “That isn’t necessary. You’ve already been more than adequate.” Shifting out of Gladiolus’ touch, Ignis pulls out his iron pan. “It was only a silly bet anyway; perhaps it would be best to end the joke tonight.”

Gladiolus wasn’t joking. He genuinely thought he could double Ignis’ score, but he didn’t; he lost miserably, and he’ll pay the price. He grunts, “We said I’d be yours for a _week_ , and I’ve hardly done anything.”

Ignis glances at him, and one ashen brow lifts above the rim of his sleek glasses. “When we stopped in Lestallum for Noctis and Prompto to stock up on cup noodles, you missed out on your favourite treat to stay and give me a foot rub.”

As sad as it was to miss out on cup noodles, that decision came strangely easy. Gladiolus doesn’t regret it. He shrugs and counters, “You’re always driving anyway; you deserved the break. And besides, we had our own treat.”

“Rice balls,” Ignis notes, “which you fed to me by hand.”

Gladiolus can feel his cheeks lightly colouring at the memory. He pushes through: “But you made them.”

Ignis answers simply, “Cooking is a part of my duties here.” Then he pauses, looking at Gladiolus for a tad longer than is comfortable, until he finishes slowly, “But if you insist... we can eat our dinner in the tent, and you may hand feed me again. One last point of subjugation before we end this nonsense tomorrow.”

“No,” Gladiolus presses, “we said for a week.”

Ignis just _looks_ at him. Gladiolus is sure he’s blushing deeper, but he keeps his gaze steady, stubborn, even when he starts to think that Ignis might be figuring him out: that he sort of _likes_ it.

He’s used to taking orders. And taking them from Ignis, even just for the one day, has been strangely exhilarating. He can guess why, though he’s always tried to bury those feelings, tried to stay professional, and he never thought they’d manifest like this. He used to picture himself pounding a flushed and sweaty Ignis into the couch of his apartment. Now Gladiolus thinks it might be fun if they tried it the other way around. Especially if Ignis _ordered_ him onto the couch first, face-down, completely naked. 

He tries to banish those thoughts, because he’s suddenly sure that Ignis can see right through him. Ignis always could read him too well. And when Ignis finally does break eye contact, it’s only to glance at the other two, like checking that they’re not listening.

They’re not.

Ignis still leans carefully in and whispers low, husky and deep, “If you wish to be a good slave, Gladio, you will leave your master alone to cook dinner, and you will obey when you’re told the length of your servitude.”

A shiver runs through Gladiolus’ body, delicious and heady. He looks at Ignis with new respect, new want. Ignis seems to hesitate, then corrects, “Although perhaps that length can be negotiated later in the night, when it’s just the two of us awake.”

Gladiolus bites the inside of his cheek to prevent an insolent grin. He nods and mutters easily, eagerly, “Yes, master.” 

Then he busily returns to setting up the tent, so he can put his friends to bed and get his master properly alone.


End file.
